


To Forget Oneself

by FFV_Kaizer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FFV_Kaizer/pseuds/FFV_Kaizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never supposed to end like this. Wining (and cheating, but then aren’t those the same?) means happy endings, riding off into the sunset and whatnot, right? Then why did it all go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You must admit, when you moved to Washington some odd years back, you were looking to avoid scenes such as this. You do not mean the overly crowded bus stop, that is to be expected when the skies open and attempt to drown this dreary day. You are, of course, referring to the man slumped on the curb, one foot forgotten in the gutter; undoubtedly, the red and yellow sneaker is ruined. His blue-black hair is plastered over square glasses and sticks to the unhealthy pallor of the natives. His blue jeans, worn through at the knees, are soaked through from sitting outside the protection granted by bus stops. The green jacket and t-shirt, featuring what seems to be some sort of snot monster, appear to suffer the same state of abuse and general sogginess. He does not move, the epitome of dejection, save for his lips, speaking in hushed tones to himself.

A boisterous lad of perhaps six braves the rain to creep close and eavesdrop on his mutterings, a sharp scolding from his mother and he’s back. Giggling, he reports that the man is talking about rainbows. The entirety of people crowded under the bus stop shoot worried glances at the man who careful regards the debris circling lazily around his foot. The side furthest from him becomes compacted with skittish commuters, leaving you with a blessed amount of space as you do not shy away from the troubled man. Without the human barrier muffling his whispers, you can hear him, even seated as you are.

“Red is- was nothing, no one, a ghost of a whisper, but now smiles bright as the sun. Orange is skittish, timid, and warm, no bark and no bite. Yellow is… is… Yellow is two, black and white, red and blue, black and white, red and blue. Green is the jungle, complete with tangles and burs, wild with childlike glee. Blue is… blue is blueis-“ He cuts off abruptly, drawing a deep breath that sputters as he inhales stray rain.

“Blue is…proper. Blue is curt. Blue is uptight. Blue is nothing. Blue is… Missing colors. Greens and blues, and, and eight and grey, and eight and grey, and eight and grey, and more and eight and grey, and and and and andandand-“ Akin to a broken record he skips back to the same damaged vinyl. This time, he screws up his eyes, then proceeds to grind the heel of his palm into them, shoving his glasses askew, as though this could guide the skipping needle to smoother waters.

“Stuck. Go back. Blue is… Then indigo is… Indigo is sleepy and scary, soft and sharp, warm and cold and D A N G E R O U S. Violet is bubbles and giggles, and…? There’s more. And… and… and dead, no, killed. Killer is haughty and arrogant and rude and and… lonely, so very alone. And they left me alone. It wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t my fault. But I’m so alone and…” He buries his face in a sodden jacket sleeve. He might have choked out a sob, but between the pinging of rain on the tin of the bus stop and a distant boom of thunder finally reaching, you might be reading into the mood. You wonder what grievances he’s had, since apparently colors have abandoned him. In addition, violet seems to be murdered. Hmm.

A short while passes, silent save for an increase in the violence of the rain, and you too should have passed by now. It is obvious to you that your companions have either forgotten the date or are ridiculously late. Before you can act on this thought; he slowly raises his head, tucking his chin into his elbow. A wistful smile ghosts across his face before fading, leaving a boy looking lost and a light gone dim. Lost in a memory if you had to guess. A saturated sneaker raises its moat, dislodging his perch, and amassed floatsome swirls for waters uncharted. Haltingly, he starts again.

“Jade left first before… before anyone knew. And Jade’s is angry and little and tiny and short and mad and funny and andandandand\- Figured it out when Dave left. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, razors and daggers and- Dave’s is razors and and cackles and edges and blind and seeing and red on teal and- oh, haha, red on teal, and teal on red and Dave’s.” He pauses, his internal teleprompter failing. “Sister. Rose. She said she was sorry, so very sorry. She wanted to stay, but it wouldn’t let her. She would cut you, and hurt you, and break you, because she couldn’t remember. It hurt. She didn’t mean to, she didn’t mean to (but she did it anyways). And Rose’s is…Rose’s is beautiful and elegant and stunning and lovely, dew drops on roses, in love, completely in love. And I’m hurting and tired and scarred and lonely. It was supposed to be over and done and everything great, but I hurt and forget and forget and I can’t. I can’t. I have to remember otherwise I’ll never get them back and I can’t forget even one and… Red, yellow, orange, green, blue, indigo, violet, killer, Jade’s, Dave’s, Rose’s, and and and-“ Babbling continuously, his fingers tick off colors and common enough names, frustration evident even in the quarter profile you are privy to. He attempts to rattle some forgotten tidbit as one would shake loose a stubborn vending machine trinket. You must admit, the young man worries you as he pounds his head.

“Me. What was mine? Mine was- **NO** , is, **ALWAYS** is. Mine IS… Mine is a secret, ‘cause Rose’s is pretty and lovely, and in love. Love that’s a secret. I’ve got it. Mine is, is secretly unsure. She postures and bullies, a tiger of paper…  and I’m getting it all wrong! A spider. Is deadly and crafty and… I can’t remember more. **I have to remember more!** ” At this the bus arrives, gracing the man with a deluge of muddy water. He hunches in on himself, but otherwise does not react. As the doors open with an overly enthusiastic welcome the commuters cram like frenzied cattle through automatic doors. Handbags become bludgeoning devises and those that failed to have fares ready receive a symphony of snarls and shoves. Savagery escalates and a poor soul is cast back, jostling the slumped vagrant. Now the man takes note of the procession, watching with amusement, even as his body starts shaking from the cold.

The bus takes off as it arrived, though this time the spattering of mud water a fine mist. He reacts now, wrinkling his nose and sticking out his tongue at the retreating bus. He turns slightly, granting a clearer view of his expression, and appears to sink back into the depths of himself. A particularly violent shiver shakes his frame and guilt grips you as you shift your unused umbrella. The tin roof leaks in several instances whence a screw missed its post by at least a handsbreadth if not more, leaving jagged stalactites that drip precisely down your raincoats collar, regardless of where you sit. At least it keeps the worst the icy rains off you. He, however, seems oblivious to the bluish hue creeping down fingertips, intent on counting inanities. This will not do. “Perhaps if you are done courting hypothermia and pneumonia, you would consider company slightly less malicious and join me beneath this marvel of human ingenuity?”

He starts at your voice, swivels comically, and starts again at the sight of you. Soaked to the bone and spattered in mud, a hint of stubble no longer subtle and a suspicion that were it not raining he might have a bit of an odor, but good Lord, those eyes! Clearest of blues, sapphires in the dark, but clouded with emotion, despair and loss. What would they look like full of life and laughter? He stares at you through beaded glass, not as a stranger might, though not as a friend might either. He speaks softly, with hesitance, but the timber of it cuts through the drumming of the rain. “You, uh, just missed the bus.”

“I might say the same of you, but then I don’t believe either of us had any intent on traversing public transit.” An amiable smile graces your lips. “I, myself, am waiting for someone. While you seem quite complacent occupying the gutter.” Only now does he seem to truly recognize his current arrangement and spares you a sheepish grin before extracting himself from said gutter. A mental debate plays out across his features, oversized teeth worrying his lower lip and a crease in his brow, as to remain standing or occupy the bench seat. He compromises, choosing to sit uncomfortably on the edge of the bench. A drowned poodle could not be more waterlogged. As a puddle rapidly forms beneath him, you are infinitely grateful for the grated seats. Otherwise, you are certain it would look as though you suffered a most unfortunate accident.

“He must be a hell of a guy to make a lady like you wait in the rain.” Up close, he hardly looks crazed. Troubled, most assuredly, but only so much as a man with too much responsibility. A soul worthy of sympathy.

“What makes you so sure I wait for a man?” Alas, your tongue is cursed with a contrary nature.

He quite clearly rolls his eyes at you. You suspect it is more playful than exasperate. “The sentiment’s the same. Plus, I was pretty sure you’d correct me if I was wrong. That or wait for my goldfish-guppy mouth gaping when your lady friend shows up. Really either or, makes no difference to me.”

Odd man. Companionable, to be sure, and possibly a bit mad, but an interesting conversationalist none the less. But then, you yourself are what they call a bit of an odd duck. “Then to clarify, and rectify any confusion I might have imbued, I am waiting for both a man and a woman. Old companions, I might add.”

Mirth lights his eyes, a sly smile his lips. “Two companions, miss? Scandalous!”

“Oh, hush you! They are friends. Untimely friends in retrospect, as they were to be here an hour past, but then, neither is particularly keen on punctuality.” An understatement and major irritant.

He makes a noise of affirmation, as though it was a fact he was well aware of. “Well, since we both have some time to kill, would you like to hear a story?”

And as in any storybook intro, you nod and lightning strikes, casting his face in sharp relief, haunts and hallows and shadowed eyes. For a moment, all you see is black and white and blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck yes, halloween. Six hours working on a pumpkin? Worth it. Bitch'n werewolf-zombie pumpkin skin carving? Check...
> 
> Anyways, quick question to readers (thanks for drop'n by!) is there a particular area to read up on some of the formatting stuff? Font sizing, image insertion, colored text and whatnot. I'm sure it's pretty simple, just need to actually see it.
> 
> Actual note on the work, should update weekends... ish.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you see that house over there? The one with the odd room that juts out?”

You do. A house long neglected, paint peeling and a lawn of yellowed weeds. A destitute tire swing sways forlornly from a gnarled tree blackened with either fire or lightning. Broken panes for a broken home. “I believe that was the Egbert residence. The father took his own life and the son was sent to foster care, if I recall correctly.”

“Well, you don’t. John Egbert did end up in foster care, his dad did die, but he didn’t kill himself.” He doesn’t look at you. Instead he huffs and stares down the house in a mixture of irritation and annoyance. You did not know the Egbert family, their tragedy happened long before you arrived. Many of your neighbors were close friends of the family, however, and informed you in somber tones of the events that transpired. You do not appreciate being falsely corrected. You especially do not appreciate the caviler manner in which he treats the passing of someone’s loved one.

“Oh? And how is it you know this? Let me hazard a guess at this juncture. It is a conspiracy against the common man, to grind to dust the everyday plight of the common Joe under the oppressive heel of the system. “

“Wow, intensive and rude! Making light of my dad’s death! Jeez, miss.”

“You’re-? I’m so sorry, I just assumed- I mean-“ Leave it you to surgically implant your own foot in your mouth.

“Yeah, I know. I look like a crackpot hobo or something. Mostly just giving you a hard time, it happened a long time ago. I guess I’ve changed a lot since then and not all for the better. Anyways, my dad didn’t kill himself.”

“Then how did he… perish?” Minutes tick by as he considers your inquiry. He starts to answer but reconsiders with a slump of his shoulders only to repeat anew.

“A, uh, black guy came, with a face like a dog, and he… uh, he was hurt pretty bad, had a sword in his stomach and everything. He pulled out the sword and- I mean, how weird is that? Using a sword from your tummy to…” A shaky grin flashes at the absurdity of the situation, but quickly falters and fades. He stares out at flooded streets without seeing. Greif and desolation scar his features and he is just a boy again. Visibly gathering himself, he turns to you, eyes pleading for understanding, for you to tell him it was all a dream. Gods, you wish you could. Hushed, he starts again, fingertips tracing the creases of his hand.

“Dads are supposed to be invincible, you know. They’re not supposed to get hurt. Not supposed to bleed red on checker board tiles. Black and white and red and… He died.” A muscle in his cheek flexes erratically, his teeth clenching and unclenching. His story has a feel of fabrication, not that the events didn’t happen, but that there is an outstanding circumstance left out for simplicities sake. Pure anguish radiates from him; his story is true enough, whatever he left out, irrelevant in his sincerity. There is nothing for you to say.

“It happened to two others. A boy in Texas was told his brother abandoned him, just up and left without a word. He doesn’t really believe it at first, but he doesn’t want to believe he’s dead either. It’s just… later, when he can’t remember what really happened, it sounds awfully convincing. I wasn’t there when Jack killed him and Da- the boy never talked about it, so, I don’t really know what actually happened. Just that Jack, uh, the guy who got my dad, killed his bro. Jack, he… he killed a lot of people. Ruined a lot of lives. My dad wasn’t alone when he… He had a lady he liked very much and was with her when- … They both… They were-“ Each time he falters and falls silent, your heart fractures another bit.

“We… we couldn’t find them at first, we were looking for so long and when we did… Jack got them. We both… we saw them-“ He cuts off abruptly, hands shaking and you don’t think it’s from the cold. “… Sorry, I guess it’s still really hard for me to say it... “

“...They told a girl in New York her mother killed herself after a man she really liked supposedly killed himself. She doesn’t believe it ‘cause she knows how she died. She… changes, it did something to her and she was never quite the same.”

“Later, she has to forget and buys in to the story, but the story never quiet rings true with her ‘cause she had some pretty cemented ideas about her mom being incapable of normal human being emotions.” Alarms ring out in your head, a suffocating mix of suspicion and fear. The man no longer looks a harmless homeless person to you. His story sounds too similar to yours. One of the reasons you left New York, to escape the suspicion everyone was lying about the circumstances regarding your mother’s death. And here, at this decrepit bus stop in the downpour of Washington’s weather, mistrust finds you again.

For the first time since you initially noticed him, you feel the need to put distance between you. A desperate need. You bolt from your seat and back until you are beyond his immediate reach.

“Who told you this? How do you know about my mother? Have you been following me? Who are you?” There are too many questions to verbalize. He does not look surprised at your outburst. Rather, he seems relived.

It does nothing to taper your fears.

“Don’t worry, I’m not dangerous. A little crazy maybe, but who isn’t? I kinda already told you who I am, but you won’t remember in a little while.” Ominous? Not in the least. “No one remembers until you forget. I can’t forget yet ‘cause I’m waiting for some people. It hurts trying to remember, to see people who don’t know you anymore, but I have to. It’s just a story to you, or it will be soon. Just as it will be for me... But not yet. It’s just a story; I can stop anytime you want. You can walk away and just forget.”

“But you can’t.”

“Not yet.”

“Because you’re waiting for someone.”

A wail of ‘How can I live without you?’ escapes from his pocket startling you both. Shooting up, he sets about extracting the phone from the confines of soggy jeans. Hands fumble and childish curses fill the air. An admirable effort is put into the task and extraction is obtained moments before the phone defaults to voicemail. The phone is as bedraggled as its owner, its prime long past, spider webs of abuse painstakingly repaired. The tone in which he answers shatters what remains of your heart, clawing desperation daring to hope. His eyes light with a hint of life, a child looking to believe. His crestfallen expression at the answer he receives, or perhaps lack thereof, smothers the fire in his eyes.

“Hello? Someone there? If you can hear me, you’ll have to text now. I can’t hear you. Hello? You’d better hurry. It’s getting close. Please guys, I can’t do this much longer. I can’t… Please?” He tails off in a whisper, an edge of panic rising. The phone is flipped off, jostling a phone charm into view. Your zodiac knowledge is a bit fuzzy, but it seems to be the symbol for Scorpio. A second charm hangs just above it, that snot monster thing. Flicking the charms anxiously, he waits. Willing the phone to ring again.

You should leave. Call up your friends and reschedule. But you won’t. Stories surrounding your mother’s death have always left you feeling anxious, your thoughts whispering it doesn’t add up. He has made no threat to harm your person, and as he said, it’s just a story. You can leave any time.

Above, the storm takes a turn for the worst. The wind picks up driving the increased waters at a forty-five. Even though you are both standing, the two of you are drenched from waist down within minutes. Grey clouds become stained with ink and a comforter of gloom settles. Half the street lights sleepily glow, the others protest with blinding flickers before complying or simply giving up. A bluish light cast from his phone cast ghastly shadows across his features, glaring off his glasses. The world disappears with bolts of lightning and deafening thunder, before slowly returning, no better for its absence.

Despite all this, it is his silence that is unbearable. When he is silent he is unremarkable, a divot in the sidewalk, a crack in the plaster. When he speaks, when he moves, when he exists, he hints at the finer thing in life, the sun on your skin, the caress of the wind. Something must be said. Anything.

“So you’re a Scorpio?” Maybe not anything.

He snorts, honest to god, snorts. “Wow, so not the time to be asking me out.” The glare you direct at him has scorched lesser men to cinders. That he is remarkably unscathed and, judging from his second snort, suitably unimpressed, leads you to believe he is no average man, a demi-god, an alien, or, be still my heart, a wizard. Your last thought leads through dark corridors, deliciously dark corridors… It takes a moment to realize he is speaking again, attention only half on you. At lest you aren’t the only one not entirely devoted to the conversation.

“-a reminder of sorts. None of them matched our own signs. We all had one, to remember our patrons; it’s the last thing they forget. They keep them even after they forget. They can’t remember where we got them, but they can never justify removing them.”

What is he talking about? Oh, right, the charm. Zodiac, what do you know about the zodiac? “So there are twelve?” Is that even an appropriate response? Damn those irresistible wizards! Your input to the conversation breaks the thrall of his phone. Seemingly pleased you chose to contribute, he directs the entirety of his attentions toward you with too much enthusiasm.

“Well, there’s twelve to remember, but only four who have to remember. Scorpio, Libra, Cancer, and, well, yours. Virgo.” It’s not your sign; it’s not the sign of anyone you know. Your best friends are, oddly enough, all Sagittarius including yourself. You have not removed your phone from your coat pocket. He should not know of your mismatched phone strap. If he had seen it he should have done the same as yourself, assumed that was your sign. Again you are unnerved; you feel an itch as though peered at through a rifle scope.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You have a charm for Virgo on your phone, yeah? And you don’t remember where you got it, right?” You got it at… It was- … You… you don’t know. A throbbing starts behind your eyes as you try to remember. He sees the distress on your face and musses his hair, which takes to sticking up at all angles. All at once, he looks put upon and guilty.

“It’s okay that you don’t remember. I can’t say I remember either, just that I remember I’ve forgotten. If you stop trying to remember the headache goes away.”

You stop thinking of the charm and, indeed, the headache fades. Its implications are not comforting. “You know me, don’t you?”

“Well, I did, Rose. You all are different after you forget.” Rose. Your name. You’ve never seen this man. Never guided his actions through an innocuous game _(a falsehood you learn)_. Never cursed his name from beneath a dripping pail _(of which there were many)_. Never sobbed in his shoulder, grieving your losses _(not just yours, but theirs too)_. Or iced his eye when it was only you two _(knowing you’ll lose him too)_. **You** have never met him _(but once you did)_.

“I don’t know you.”

“I know.” There is strain in his eyes, a tightness you did not recognize before. You don’t know him _(a silly boy with a goofy smile)_. An ache crawls to your temples. You cannot dwell on him.

“You said four a moment ago, but you only mentioned three, a boy, a girl, and yourself. Who is the fourth?” _(Red and pink, blue and green)_ The ache intensifies, a spike creeping to the base of your skull. Colors mean NOTHING, colors are everywhere.

“My sister. Jade Harley.” _(Purest of green, a forest lush with life, put to shame)_

“Jade doesn’t have a brother. I’ve known her for years. It’s who I’m waiting for.”You have to prove him wrong, the pain won’t let you abide his claims _(he can’t lie)_. You’ve known her for years; she has no family _(WHY ARE YOU LYING!)_. Lances of pain grit your teeth.

“I know. Her and Dave Strider. Jade’s always late ‘cause she gets lost a lot and Dave always arrives last because he doesn’t like waiting for people. He calls it fashionably late for ironic purposes.“ _(Waiting for people who might not show up, who will never come home)_

“How do you know Dave?” _(How could he not?)_

“He was my best friend, duh. We were all were, really. It wasn’t till later we found out Jade was my sister and Dave was your brother, kinda obvious looking back.”

Cotton threads of barbed wire tangle behind your eyes, shredding all cognitive thought. You can’t think. You have to. It fits. Dave is so similar to you in looks and personality. You wonder why you didn’t suspect it earlier, but the blinding onset of a migraine answers that. Something is making you forget.

Blackness courts vision as your mind seeks to rend, you cannot stand. Crumpling, your hands dig into your scalp, attempting to alleviate the pounding to no avail. He kneels beside you intent to help you, you flinch and he wavers. You do not know him. Your eyes tilt of their own volition and all you can see is him, his need to help you, his impotence in the face of your agony, his isolation tearing his sanity to shreds _(as it did yours)_. “I should not have said that. Just forget. It’s okay. The pain will disappear. You don’t have to do this, Rose. Only one of us needs to remember, just for a little bit.”

“No. I need to know. How much have I forgotten?”

He sighs deeply, tension draining from the set of his shoulders. A lopsided smirk, pitiful and unsure in its shakiness, tugs at his mouth. Sincerity only a child could rival, gleams in his eyes, a profound sadness not for himself, but for you. And with it you can see what you have lost.

“Everything.”


	3. Chapter 3

On the tin roof above the downpour pounds like dropped quarters. Lightning cracks, a blaze of light to the pittance that is the street lamps, drowning out the thunder of icy rains. The wind swirls into stillness. He reclaims the grated bench, looking for all the world, a corpse finding its final rest. Blued fingers attack his hair before settling to itch his neck, his lips cracking in an insecure smile and his eyes not quite meeting, a universal symbol of unease.

“Bear with me here, my own memories get a bit fuzzy. Details get lost and I don’t really know where to start.” He raises his voice to carry over the rain, but somehow it makes him sound frail.

“The beginning tends to be a good place.” The most obvious and, generally, most cohesive place to start.

“Yeah, but do I start with riding in on a meteor, or making myself out of ectoplasma goop?”

He is serious. Oh god, you’re regretting this already.

“I guess that’s not really important. Um, it starts with a game, I guess. Only the game was really messed up. We couldn’t win it, so we met with some… friends? And we, jeez this won’t really make sense without context, but we helped fix their endgame reward thingy. And here’s where I forget things, ‘cause we went through and they were supposed to follow us. But they didn’t. So then it was just us four… We started to forget.”

 ~~\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~

“You’ve got to be shitting me. Guy rings you up, bootylicious bootycalls at three in the morning, hankering for a side of hellmurder islander vagoo an’ you can’t be bothered ta remember. Christ, Jade, shit on a man’s pride if you will.” Tearing into a cinnamon bagel peppered with raisins and slathered in cream cheese, he flicks a wayward gob of cream for a field goal. It spatters smack dab in the center of the bespeckled boys forehead, framed by black shaggy hair. GOOOOOAAAAALLLL!

His lookalike snorts, black tangles sweeping toast crumbs from the counter top, before addressing the lanky teen not quiet grown into his limbs, intent on inhaling cinnamon and cream cheese goodness without chewing, elbows fending off those who would dare interfere. Poker-face be damned as said bagel is crammed into the chasm that is Dave Striders mouth.

“Well sooooorry for not getting a weirdo crank callers personal info. Jeeze, Dave, next time I’ll make sure to get all the dirty details before hanging up on stuttering fuckasses. Here, let me get that, John. You’re just smearing it all over.“

John acquiesces to spit soaked napkins with crinkled nose and a scrunched face. Sulking as a scolded child might, he reaches to pepper a bacon, avocado and cheese monstrosity, before attempting ingestion, gooey strings of mozzarella attempting escape. The salt is conspicuously missing.

“Damn straight, gotta know who all these bitches are. Give’m fruit baskets as consolation prizes, sorry dude, know ya’ll were looking to be the sour cream to my meaty taco but I’m fresh outta guacamole and, fuck, while we’re at it, the shredded cheese’s a little rank too, bro. Wouldn’t want you to catch E.coli or some shit.” Dave slurps nosily at his near empty soda, the remaining drops a raucous symphony. Much to the annoyance of his fair haired counterpart, lips pursed in irritation.

“Shall I refill that for you? Or must you capture the last remaining specks?” Napkin tucked in shirt collar and garden salad picked apart leaving carrot zest and a few leaves of questionable nature, Rose is the only one whose immediate surroundings is not a holocaust of breads.

Smugness radiates from Dave; waves of conceit congealing into a rare ingratiating smirk as he dips for a well chewed straw. With agitation reserved for persistent telemarketers, pale narrow hands swoop for the offending noisemaker, divesting him of his beverage.

“I was with you till the guacamole.” John mutters to the table, wilting with disappointment at having not followed. He brightens. “Oh Rose, could you fill my water?” Confusion flits across her face as she takes the proffered cup, but curls into a smirk as she looks inside.

“Stuttering? It wasn’t Tavros was it?” Muses John, head cocked as a puppy.

Stirring stray crumbs in to curious faces, Jade mimics one of mystification. “Who?”

“The doe-eyed woobie with a massive rack an’ a mighty craving for your soggy sloppy joe.”With the barest of nods Dave acknowledges the return of refilled beverage.

“His typing quirk if I recall was reverse capitalization. I believe you expressed irritation at one point, as to his assertions of confidence.“ Rose continues as she seats herself, depositing a waded clump of napkins onto the counter. “We’ll need them.” She adds in response to Jades quirked eyebrow.

“Oh right, yeah, Tavros. Of course I know Tavros.”

Popping the plastic cover, Dave takes a swig of soda. A spray of syrupy soda is forcibly ejected with a series of undignified sputters, leaving a fine sticky mist on the stall and its inhabitants. “Salt? JEGUS Egbert! Drafting my own flesh and blood?”

 ~~\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~

“We didn’t think much of it at the time. Jade was always kind of forgetful to begin with. It wasn’t till she left for a trip around Europe that we started getting worried.”

 ~~\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------~~

“Hey, has anyone else been getting like a bajillion texts from Karkat?” Fidgeting beneath the combined weight of Lalonde-Strider legs, spanning as only their freakishly leggy gene pool could achieve, from his position of leg rest by choice of central location on beaten bruised and mangled couch, John truly only addresses black aviators. Rose lost to a book that is most definitely not War and Peace, despite what the flapping dustcover says.

“Nope, lucky you. I can only stomach so much puckered asshole before my tummy gets all a rummbly. What’s got the screaming arse’s panties in a bunch?” He shifts, propping up on bladed elbows, digging gummy rubber converse into John’s knee.

“See for yourself.”

CG: IS IT SOME FUCKING HUMAN THING?    
CG: LIKE, AT THE DROP OF A HAT YOU ALL GO    
CG: i’m going to be a pissy nub fondling pain in the waste shoot!!!!! :D :D    
CG: ,’D    
CG: IS THIS SOMETHING YOU FORGOT TO TELL ME?    
CG: YOU HUMANS GO SHIT HIVE MAGGOTS EACH PEDIGREE. SWITCHING FROM IGNORING ME TO SCREECHING LIKE A WIGGLER WITH A HORRIFYING LOAD IN ITS DIAPER STUB?    
CG: FUCK NOT YOU TOO.    
CG: JOHN   
CG: STOP IGNORING ME.    
CG: JOHN   
CG: JOHN   
CG: PAIN OF MY EXISTENCE   
CG: JOHN   
CG: JOHN   
CG: OH GOG, IT IS, ISN’T IT?    
CG: THIS IS LIKE,THE FOURTH TRIMESTER OF THE YOUR SAD PASTY MOON PHASE OR SOME SHIT.    
CG: HUMANS PUPATE INTO EVEN MORE HIDEOUS MONSTROSITIES. SPROUTING GRISLY FUR IN INCONVENIENT PLACES IN A WOEFUL ATTEMPT TO ATTRACT THE OPPOSITE OF YOUR BAFFLING SEPARATED SEX ORGANS. 

“Shit, John why you been telling him all our delicious human secrets. You might want to answer sometime soon, ya know, before he gets to all the good part and lets out some massive spoilers.”

CG: DISGUSTING PUSTULES FORM IN SOME SORT OF RITE OF PASSAGE.    
EB: hey karkat!   
CG: SURVIVE THIS AND YOU ARE NOT QUIET SO WORTHLESS.    
CG: GOOD LUCK FINDING SOMETHING THAT CAN STOMACH LOOKING AT YOUR ABOMINABLE LANDFIELD OF A FACE LONG ENOUGH TO COPULATE.    
EB: rude!    
EB: hey    
CG: IF YOU MANAGE, THEN A PARASITE FESTERS IN YOUR CHEST CAVITY LATCHES ONTO YOUR BLOOD STREAM, DEVOURING ALL YOUR NUTRIENTS.    
EB: hey    
CG: THEN IT BURSTS FORTH ONCE IT’S HAD ITS FILL, IN AN ERUPTION OF BLOOD AND GORE.    
EB: karkitty    
CG: THAT IS WHAT’S HAPPENING.    
EB: beep beep meow    
CG: JOHN. WHY?    
EB: beep    
EB: beep    
CG: WHY DIDN”T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE A HORRIBLE MONSTROSITY?    
EB: meow    
CG: OH WAIT, THAT’S BECAUSE I ALREADY KNEW.    
EB: beepbeep    
CG: WHAT.    
EB: beep beep meow    
CG: …    
EB: bebop    
CG: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.    
EB: beepity beep beep meow mudafucker    
CG: STOP, JOHN.    
CG: SHUT YOUR NOISE HOLE.    
EB: beep beep beep beep meow    
CG: FUCK YOU JOHN.    
CG: RIGHT IN YOUR CRUSTY THINK PAN    
CG: WITH BOVINE PHALLUS WALKSTICK    
EB: beep beep-    
EB: oh, hey there!    
EB: sorry. guess i got a carried away.    
EB: so whats up?    
CG: ‘BOUT FUCKING TIME, JERKASS    
CG: IS MY PREVIOUS RANTINGS JUST MONOCHROMATIC WALLPAPER TO YOU? A NICE SPLASH SCREEN OF **SCROLL THE FUCK UP JOHN** , I’M NOT REPEATING MYSELF.    
>EB: ugh, fine. just give me a minute.    
EB: oh gross karkat, I just read that.    
EB: cow dick    
EB: bluh    
CG: WELL?    
EB: uh, it’s just you whining about something… you’re not exactly specific.    
EB: and apparently ranting about puberty and babies or something.    
CG: WHAT?    
CG: OH SHIT, YOUR RIGHT.    
CG: IGNORE THAT.    
CG: ALL OF IT.    
CG: JUST…    
CG: DELETE IT OR SOMETHING.    
CG: JADE IS IGNORING ME AND IF SHE ISN’T, SHE’S YELLING AT ME. ANGRILY.    
EB: uh, jade normally gets fed up with you and is kinda yelly at you.    
EB: so…    
EB: i guess i don’t really see the problem?    
CG: YELLS? YES. GETS MASSIVELY BITCHY AT ME? FUCKING UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR. FLAT OUT IGNORES ME OR BANSHE WAILS AT ME TO STOP BOTHERING HER? NOT SO MUCH.    
EB: fiiiiiiiiine, I’ll talk to her 

EB: hey jade    
GG: john!!!!! >:(    
EB: woah, hey, what’d i do?    
GG: sorry!!!! This asshole keeps texting me and is really pissing me off >:I    
EB: huh?    
GG: don’t worry about it ;D    
GG: what’s up?    
EB: uh…    
EB: oh! karkat’s been whining that you’re ignoring him. please, for the sake of my data plan, answer him.    
EB: (i think he’s used up all of this months minutes, fuuuuuuuuuck)    
GG: ugh, i should have known you were behind this john    
EB: ?    
GG: stupid pranksters gambit    
GG: tell whoever the asshole whos texting me to stop it    
EB: what?    
EB: what are you talking about?    
GG: oh come on!! Do we have to do this every time?    
GG: ha    
GG: fucking    
GG: ha    
GG: you got me john, you got me good    
GG: now get the fuckass to stop bugging me D:br />  
EB: who’s bugging you?   
GG: the carcat guy!!   
EB: isn’t that normal?   
EB: for him to be bugging you, I mean.   
EB: (hehe, beep beep meow)   
GG: why are you being so weird? i don’t care if it’s you or dave or some other asshole, just get whoevers texting to stop!!!!!! 

His face folds in a frown before switching windows.

EB: jeeze karkat! what’d you do to make jade so pissed?    
CG: FUCK IF I KNOW.    
CG: WHY? YOU TALKED TO HER, RIGHT? DID SHE SAY ANYTHING?    
EB: well… she’s acting like she doesn’t know you    
CG: WHAT?    
CG: NO    
CG: FUCK!    
CG: IT WASN’T…    
CG: FUCK!    
EB: karkat?    
CG: JUST… FUCK!    
CG: JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE. I NEED TO ASK SOLLUX SOMETHING.    
EB: why? what’s going on?    
EB: karkat?    
EB: are you there? 

EB: did you and karkat have a fight or something? he’s acting pretty weird.    
EB: weirder than normal    
GG: YOURE BEING WEIRD    
GG: i mean seriously, make the texts stop it’s really starting to piss me off    
GG: OH COME ON!    
GG: there’s a whole new slew of this BULLSHIT    
GG: knock it off john!!!!    
EB: it’s not me! it’s karkat    
EB: come on, jade, just answer karkat    
GG: I DON’T KNOW ANYONE NAMED KARKAT 

EB: what the hell, karkat? what’s going on?    
CG: OH FUCK, JOHN. SHIT, I’M SO SORRY. WE THOUGHT IT WOULD TAKE LONGER. I THOUGHT WE HAD MORE TIME.    
EB: what? what’s happening?    
CG: I DON’T THINK WE CAN MAKE IT.    
EB: karkat, you’re freaking me out. what’s going on? make it where?    
CG: TO YOUR UNIVERSE JOHN.    
CG: I THINK…    
CG: I THINK WE’RE STUCK IN THE VEIL. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness, life exploded, 2 of my sibling’s birthdays, one of them getting engaged, papers due, group projects, planning for a friend’s 21st and a nice shiny new project dumped on me at work…  
> No update next week, on account of said friend’s b-day.  
> ... Yeah the coding's messed up...


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a lot to his story that makes no sense to you. He emphasizes words that have no meaning, as though expecting you to have insider’s knowledge. “How long before she forgot you?”

“Jade? It’s hard to say really, a month, two months maybe. When she left for her trip, she never came back. Never saw her again. Never heard from her either.”

“But I just saw her last week…” Granted it was over skype, she was in New Mexico at the time, the girl travels.

“But it’s not- It’s not really her… You…” His face contorts in frustration, intent on getting his point across. Deflating in defeat, he cannot meet your eye. A sigh escapes.

“It’s not like we completely lost track of her. She has a blog and… look for yourself.”

He offers his phone, displaying a sun bronzed woman, ink black tresses falling past her waist surveying the summit, lips parted in a crooked grin. Jade’s trip to Columbia three weeks ago. Several messages span beneath, grey caps and copper.

“We all comment, just gentle reminders that we exist. Try to see if we can make them remember.”

“Who exactly are we?”

“It’s… complicated. Palhanchos, friendleaders, crazy broads and more. Jade was friends with a lot of them, and she and, uh, what was it? Car… car something, the yelly one were… frienemies? Trapeze?… Tra- Therise? She and Dave were… something. And mine… mine is a secret- Sekret! V- whisker? Visker? She is, well, she’s that friend who’s kinda dangerous, but she’s trying to be better! Really! There’s others but it’s really hard to remember them.” He has neglected to mention you. Either there was no one or-

“What about me? Did I- Was there someone? Someone I forgot?” You are not sure what answer you expect. Not sure you want one.

“She writes to you every day.”

“No one writes me.”

“She writes to your relationship advice column thingy, some of the others do too. Though I won’t subject you to the hipsters entries. I think I can pull up one of hers, here, see?”

Dear TentacleTherapist  
I’ve A Dear Friend Who Sustained A Significant Accident And Now Suffers From Amnesia  
I Must Admit Before This Accident I Was Unsure Of My Relations Toward Her  
Now That She No Longer Remembers Me I Have Realized The Depth Of My Fondness For Her  
I Want To Tell Her  
I Love You  
But She Will Not Know Me

And another one.

Dear TentacleTherapist  
I Love Someone Very Deeply But Have Been Unable To Tell Them  
This Is In Part Due To My Own Hesitance But Mainly Stems From Cultural Misunderstandings  
Our Interactions Have Always Been Rather Ambiguous And As Such It Has Left Me With Confusion As To Her Own Feelings  
I Love Her But Her Feelings Toward Me Remains A Mystery

This is-

Dressed a starlet, a slip of cherry in striking lines, she smiles softly, tiredly, cracked and faded about the edges with fatigue. Pulsing as an overworked florescent, she sags into your arms, shoulders hitching in hysterical laughter or sobs of grief. Thirteen, or perhaps more accurately, six sweeps is too young to have gone through so much. She smells faintly of old books and something that is neither offensive nor pleasant but merely is.

“I don’t know her.” _(You do. You know her best. From the way she rambles when nervous to her determination to do whatever it takes.)_

He regards you silently before chuckling dryly. “At least I don’t have to duck whenever I try to remind you of someone.”

“Pardon?”

“Dave, well, he broke my nose when I tried to remind him.” He thumbs the bridge of his nose. “He… Well, we all learned things about ourselves during the game. And Dave… what he learned wasn’t so pleasant.“

There is a part of you that whispers you are feeding his delusions, but the way he looks at you, a mix of purest sincerity and well intentions, even if he was delusional it would be a terrible crime to break him. Someone already so fractured. “What did he learn?”

“That he isn’t invincible. That his friends can die, his bro can die, that he can die and there is nothing, not a damn thing, he can do. That he’s stuck in a construct far beyond his understanding. The game built some of us up, taught others our limits, but Dave… It just tore him down. He didn’t want to remember. He wanted to forget. And so he did. One week he’s asking who the creepy clown is, the next he’s telling me to fuck off like I’m a stranger.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A ring of perspiration would be making a pretty gross puddle down your chest if it weren’t so hot that moisture evaporates instantaneously. Jeeze, even though the sweat’s gone your skin’s all gritty and salty. Stupid Dave, making you wander around in this horribly hot state. Where is he anyways? A red suede suite and ragged converse slouch out an impossibly tall apartment complex into the blistering Texan sun, fair hair radiating a blinding glow. Just the albino coolguy you were looking for.

“Dave! Hey, what gives? You were supposed to pick us up at the airport.” You should be irritated he left you practically stranded, but you’re just happy to see him. You make to sweep him in a bone crushing hug. A gross sweaty hug would serve him right. He slaps away with ease the impending grody embrace.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, Nancy boy! Genuine grade A Strider man meat here, don’t sully the produce, grubby handed man-child. I know it’s hard, this prime man flesh beggin’ to be squeezed, but easy on the goods, the anticipation’ll make the moment sweeter.”

“Aw come on Dave, now’s not the time to be messing around. Rose is still waiting in the taxi, we weren’t positive you still lived here.” What you would give to be waiting in the taxi A/C , but alas you are too dedicated to paper. You snake a hand on his shoulder and give a good natured shake, he shrugs it off violently.

“What are you deaf as well as dog-faced ugly? I said don’t touch me kid!” He spits out, snarling with more emotion than you’ve seen in a long while. This isn’t how he acts. This is a little too close to how Jade was acting before she stopped talking to any of you.  
“Come on Dave! It’s me, John. I haven’t changed that much since I last saw you.” He doesn’t show even a flicker of recognition, soulless black glass staring you down.

“Come on Dave! It’s me, John! Come on. You know me, Dave. Please, tell me you know me. Don’t, don’t do this. Come on, Dave. ” You can hear the whiny pitch your voice has taken. He’s gotta remember you. He’s got to!

“Shit, you’re that Nigerian princess ain’tcha? Babe I toldja it ain’t me it’s you. Shit needs to be free.” He turns to leave. Seeing him turn his back to you, knowing if he leaves that’s it, he’s gone, terrifies you more than anything in the game ever did. You can’t let him go.

“I said don’t fuckin’ touch me!” Ducking from your imploring hand, a swift left cross snaps upwards . A wet snap is audible, thick blood trickles and you can’t help but snuffle, choking down a slug of metallic sludge. ” Don’t fuckin’ know you dickbag. So kindly piss off” It should hurt, should make you cradle you nose and reel back, but all you can think is how he doesn’t know who you are.

You stare dumbfounded as he flips you the bird over his shoulder. Blood dribbles off your chin, you can’t breathe and you feel like crying.

You’ve already lost him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies this is a bit of a short chapter, plus side I've a bit of a buffer so updates will be more consistent.


	5. Chapter 5

Your hand gravitates to explore the now unfamiliar terrain of your nose, despite your stanch attempts to the contrary. Ginger prods assures you it remains attached though already hideously swollen. Your hand comes away red. (You try to shake him awake, awful red everywhere your hands are stained crimson. Oh god, Dad!) Sweltering sun beats down, unyielding, unfeeling. (Reminders of clockwork glowing with heat and all encompassing sound, a steady beat more felt than heard)The red on your shirt sticks gooily to your chest, flaking some already at the edges (It’s not the first time, please, please let it be the last!). Your legs carry you where your brain will not, stopping without command before the taxi which brought here, faded with oxidation, engine idling like rocks in a tin can. The yellow and checkerboard door wrenches open, wide unnaturally lilac eyes greet you.

Rose scrambles out the cab, all flailing narrow limbs in her rush. Her mouth flashes every syllable with no discernable meaning, there is only the sound of your blood pounding in your ears. You blink without comprehension. She takes your hand, gently tugging as she retreats back into the cab, your body follows sluggishly, the seat wheezing to accommodate your sudden demand. As the door closes, the interior is dim before your eyes acclimate. The taxi driver slurs something, and Rose leans in to argue. You can’t bring yourself to care as the vehicle lurches into motion.

Streets blend together, an unfamiliar stretch of weathered structures and desert.

“John?” With tentative insistence, Rose reaches, capturing your jaw between willow reed fingers.

“John, what happened? Who-?” She searches your face for response, eyes lingering on your numb nose. Her lips part to ask again.

“Rose? I don’t… I don’t think Dave knew who I was.”

“That doesn’t seem possible. Are you sure? Perhaps it is another application of his misconstrued irony.”

“He punched me in the face, Rose!”

Before she can respond, a hellish din erupts from your phone.

“Is it Dave?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Hello?”

“What the fuck did you do.” It’s definitely not a question. You can hear the distinct period on the end.

“Karkat? I didn’t… What’s going on? Dave didn’t… you know something, don’t you? You know what’s going on! We haven’t heard from Jade in three months, and Dave just broke by nose. Karkat, he didn’t even know who I was! “

“Fuck. Are you sure? I know he’s an enormous festering asshole so are you sure he wasn’t just being his raving mentally stunted flaming douchebag who thinks he is, and I quote, ‘the shit’, self? “  
“Karkat!”

There’s a derisive snort on the other end of the line. When he speaks again it’s unnaturally soft.  
“We thought this might happen…”

He needs to stop stopping!!! This is really important!

“You remember when we met in the veil?”

“You mean when I tried giving everyone hugs, but when I got to you, you wouldn’t let me so I tucked you in my armpit and you fell asleep? “

“Thanks for fucking reminding me of the complete and abject humiliation I will never live down. Thanks a bunch asswipe. And fuck you, it’s a natural troll instinct.”

“The doorway weakened when you guys went through.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blue energy eagerly laps at John’s hand, knob in hand he flashes a face splitting grin before throwing the door wide open. The wide empty expanse of the veil fills the door for a moment before a roar of crackling power arcs violently, filling the void with azure spider webs of… something. Something insubstantial yet still tangible. The portal flicker green around the edges, twining with blue black arcs that pop in and out of existence.

Wow. So, uh… wow.

Motherfuck’n miracles.

Neat!!! So, who wants to go first?

I think the intent was us four at once and the trolls follow after.

Anyone want to bet it’s like lick’n a 9 volt?

Don’t even fucking suggest it. Terezi will try licking it, her tongue’ll fucking disappear and somehow I’ll be responsible for fixing it.

I would think that the prospect would appeal seeing as how you so bitterly protest her ‘closer looks’ on your person.

He secretly loves them. See, look how he blushes!

It’s really pretty don’t you think, Sollux?

Eh, It’s okay.

“I guess it’s time for us all to go? See you all on the other side.” John grins sheepishly waving awkwardly as his three companions follow.

The portal flashes blinding white as the humans disappear, the portal itself collapsing with an underwhelming pop.

With a frown more teeth than actual expression, Terezi sidles up to the doorjamb, lolls her head through empty space and snorts in a breath. She turns back with a look halfway between confusion and disappointment. “Was that it?”

The doorway explodes with light, portal reappearing with a sparking hiss. Terezi starts back, barely avoiding contact with the new portal. Though it still crackles with energies, it sputters and spits casting sickly rotten yellow bruises of lightning flickering sporadically.

Karkat shifts with ease, approaching the portal. “Alright, bulgmunchers, looks like it’s our turn. Everyone make sure you’ve got all your shit, not like we can turn this fucked up four-wheeled device around for whatever meaningless crap you left in your incompetence. “

“Wait KK!”

“Oh what the fuck now? Need me to hold your hand as we cross the lawnring? Maybe you need your diaperstub changed?”

“Yeah, thit thtain pull out the thtub exchange thurface and powder me up. “

“Sorry what was that? Was any of that actual words or are you just trying to amuse yourself by expelling enough saliva to drown you horrible mutant face in?”

“Look at the fucking gate! Does that theem the thame ath a moment ago? Give me a thec to run a diagnothtic tetht.”

“Do you intentionally pick words that are incomprehensible with your stupid lisp? It looks fine to me.”

“Thure go on through be my guetht, when it ripth every fiber of your being apart and lightth the atomth on fire be a thweetheart and let me know. Oh wait, that’th going to be a problem ithn’t it?”

“It seems you suspect failing in the portal. Is it perhaps a defect stemming from our repair?” inquires Kanaya.

“If by defect you mean a highly thophithticated piece of technology, thcience, whatever it ith, hell maybe it really is magic, being repaired by ten adolethcents, eight of which don’t have a grubfuck clue what they’re doing, with what amounts to thilly putty, duct tape and a couple of bent wireth for good meathure, then yeah, might be a bit of a defect in there.”

“That’s a lot of motherfuck’n beautiful words there, brother. All hiss’n together an’ shit. Beautiful.”  
Karkats expression darkens. “If you didn’t think it was going to fucking work why did you let the humans go through?”

“Someone had to eventually. Besides it’s their world, not like it’s not going to recognize them.”  
“What does that mean?”

“We altered the door, right? Tried to make it lead to one of their univertheth where ThGrub or their equivalent is null, invalid. If we all tranthfer ath we are we introduce a variable and a quantum thtate in which ThGrub existth ith realized. Jutht by entering their univerthe we fix that thtate and-“ Blank stares across the board appraise him.

“I think that’s a little too complicated for them Sollux.” Aradia pipes in

“Look, we go through and becauthe we know about ThGrub, becauthe we were made by ThGrub and becauthe trollth don’t exist on the humanth homeworld, that univerthe gets thcrewed up and either thtarts up ThGrub or, more likely, implodeth.”

Brow drawn, Kanaya asks, “Are not the humans running the same risk?”

“No. Well, at leatht I don’t think tho. Becauthe they belong in a thimilar inthtance it should be fooled into thinking they belong. It’ll reject the obviouth dithimilaritieth ThGrub, their originth, probably by rewriting or erathing that information from the humanth.”

A silence

“Oh thit.”

“What?” Four voices reply in varying degrees of concern. The owner of the unheard fifth stares captivated by the portal.

“Why didn’t we try fixing it earlier?”

“That might have something to do with a homicidal demi-dog showing up to get his murder fixings.”

“Or all the necessary acts justice taking place.”

“I can’t say I really cared at the time. I was kind of busy dying and coming back.”

“No. It was not that. There was no reason to return. Our reward was destroyed it did not appear to be a viable course of action. It was not until the humans came that…” Trailing off, Kanaya dawns a look of horror.

“It started reacting. What if the humans were acting like bridge from the veil to the humans universe? What if they were like, a homing beacon, or a relay, or something for their homeworld?”

“Fuck if I know, I’m not following a word you’re saying.”

“We just sent the only thing that connects us to the new universe through the door. A connection that very well might be disintegrating as we speak.” Aridia offers infinitely too brightly. Cheerful grin meeting horrified faces.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Sollux figures that so long as you idiots remember how much more superior we trolls are and how you owe you’re pitiful existence to us, the signal remains strong and we can waltz on through the portal. Problem is we can’t go through just yet and your stupid shitty universe is erasing its connections to Sgrub, Sbub, whatever, but If we go through now we’re afraid it’ll outright reject us like one of Eridans advances. And it won’t be as simple as fuck off fish-face, more like oh gog, oh gog, the sun it burns, my flesh, my fucking flesh is boiling off. Until it’s clear we won’t end up as troll goop, we’re fucking stuck, that is, for as long as you morons remember, then we’re just fucked.”

The line falls silent, static noise the only speaker.

Softly, no higher than a whisper you hear him.

“So John? Don’t fucking forget.“  
 


End file.
